


Halves

by drakonlily



Category: Boondock Saints (1999 2009)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-22
Updated: 2010-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-13 23:41:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drakonlily/pseuds/drakonlily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Conner and Murphy have a heart to heart under slightly dire circumstances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Halves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tommygirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tommygirl/gifts).



It wasn't as though they had this whole killing mobsters thing down to a science yet. More often than not, Murphy and Conner found themselves running while being shot at if not directly after. Typically they managed to get away without too much trouble. Luck of the Irish or some other really idiotic phrase that they both hated may have had something to do with it.

"I think I'm hurt bad."

That's not what Conner wanted to hear. He had noticed that Murphy was lagging behind him, however he hadn't expected his brother to actually be hurt. They were barreling down the same church sector of Boston that they had always run in. They knew where they were. Conner and Murphy were almost home free. He couldn't be hurt now. Conner skidded to a halt and whirled on his brother. "What?"

Conner put one hand on Murphy's shoulder and another one on his chest. Murphy pushed him back with a sharp sort of jab under the collarbone. "Back off me. I can handle myself."

The urge to let his fist fly at his brother in retaliation was strong within Conner. It wasn't that he didn't love Murphy with everything that he was. The man just elicited a knee jerk reaction at the worst of times. He fought the urge back and once again attempted to check Murphy for injuries. Murphy grumbled, but allowed him to peel back the leather jacket to show a bright red spot at Murphy's side. "You're fucking bleeding!"

"Well I know that!" Murphy covered the place with his hand and made the fabric of his shirt squelch in grip. Red blood steamed over his fingers in the cold. Despite the obvious severity of his wound, Murphy's face showed more annoyance than pain. It was one of the things that they shared, the ability to focus around things that brought other people to their knees.

The time to appreciate their talents was not when Murphy may be bleeding to death in front of him. Conner let go of the jacket with an angry snarl. "You could have told me when it happened!"

Murphy made a little snort himself and half shrugged. "I wasn't bleeding that bad."

"You weren't bleeding that-" Conner nearly jack slapped his brother upside the back of his head. Instead he clenched his fist and shook it before he took of his own jacket to tie around Murphy's bullet wound. Traditionally, people went on journeys to find themselves. Most people, Conner was told, were in constant search for themselves; their singular identity as one person.

Conner had never considered himself to be one singular person. His identity was entirely different. He was half of an identity; an equal part of the person he identified with was Murphy. Maybe it made him a little overprotective. In Conner's defense, when someone was bleeding profusely from their side, it was bad. He wasn't a medical professional, but Conner had been shot enough times to know when a gun injury was bad.

"Well I told you when I figured it was bad!" Murphy's voice was straining. The adrenaline was wearing off. It showed in his stance and in his eyes. Even if where he was hit wasn't exactly vital, it was a wound that was bleeding and it was far too much blood for it to not need attention.

Without the many retorts that Conner had saved up in his head, he again put an arm around his brother and pulled one of Murphy's arms over his shoulders. "Comon, lemme find you somewhere to rest."

Murphy's protests were weak and he allowed himself to be helped to his feet. Together the twins made their way to the stoop of a church and Conner was cursing up a blue streak. He couldn't have his brother bleed to death in an alley. It wouldn't happen. Conner would not allow it to happen.

Murphy tried to settle comfortably, but he hissed and made a pained squeaking sound instead. His eyes were still clear, despite his obvious blood loss. That was a good sign. He got that defiant look that he'd mastered as a boy. Murphy hated being cared for. He looked entirely offended that Murphy had removed his jacket. "You're gonna freeze, you moron."

"Well you're gonna bleed to death, idiot."

"Fooker."

"Jackarse." He took a deep, steadying breath before this escalated and made Murphy lose more blood. Conner kneeled in front of Murphy, one knee on either side of Murphy's outstretched leg. He slammed a fist into the wall next to his brother's head, far enough away that Murphy would be able to tell it was just out of frustration and not aimed at him. Conner then leaned his head against Murphy's shoulder. "Goddamnit, Murph, stop doin this to me."

Murphy pressed his head against his brother and breathed deeply. When he spoke, his voice had lost the fighting edge. "Getting shot? I don't mean to."

"Not just getting shot you idiot, getting yourself in trouble!" Conner sighed and allowed himself to be still a while before he pulled out his cell phone. He could feel the chill of winter rush against the part of his body that wasn't pressed against his warm brother's body. The muscles in his chest and back shuddered in spasms unintentionally to keep him warm. His body would ache because of it in the morning.

Murphy could feel Conner shake and lifted his arms around his brother. It wasn't going to do much good. "Get us inside, you jackass!"

Conner scowled. "I'm not breaking into a church!"

That earned an aggravated groan. "Then get your jacket back on."

"You got it all bloody." It was Conner's turn for petulance.

"Conner!" Murphy tried to sit up and snarled with pain. His own breath was ragged and came in harsh gasps. "Come on."

Conner was fumbling with his cell phone and growled. Murphy did have a point, though he'd never say that. "Fine, here, you call Smecker." He gave the item to Murphy and looked over the building. The service door was close enough that he could keep Murphy in eyesight while he was breaking in.

"Father, forgive me, I have an arse for a brother and he's bleeding to death." One quick shot blew out the lock for the backdoor of the church and his foot connected squarely under the knob. The door slammed against the inside wall with a thunderous crash. There was no alarm at least, that meant that they'd be safe until help arrived.

Murphy lifted his arms for help up. In a situation like this, they didn't really speak. Everything they did was just part of the whole. While they didn't walk smoothly, there was hardly the amount of staggering or lack of grace that one would expect when dragging someone with a gunshot wound. Murphy anticipated Conner's footing on the steps and knew how he'd close the door. "Mum would whoop your ass."

Conner knew he was talking about breaking into a church. "Yeah, well don't tell on me." He moved them onto a worn couch in a corner. The place smelled of a funeral, but it was warm. "Smecker on his way?"

Murphy only nodded and tried to curl himself onto Conner's shoulder. "Telling mum."

"And I'll tell her you started it." After a bit of adjustment, they found a comfortable position. "Just get some rest."

Murphy nodded and didn't protest. They both would be asleep by the time that Agent Smecker arrived.


End file.
